


Lessons in Autobot Sexuality

by Sakiku



Series: Sunny O'Keeffe [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Electromagnetic Fields, Inexperience, Other, Pictures, Self-Penetration, Sticky Equipment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakiku/pseuds/Sakiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bumblebee just can't stop thinking about Sunstreaker's pictures. He is letting himself get so distracted that Prowl feels the need to step in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Autobot Sexuality

When Bumblebee returned to the Ark after making sure Spike and Carly had safely arrived home, everything felt... strange.

Not that anyone behaved differently, but having to look at the mechs whose interface equipment he had just stared at (and saved many stills of) was kind of unnerving. Especially when faced with Optimus. Because Optimus _knew_ that Bumblebee knew, and Prime had seen Bumblebee's equipment, too.

Nobody said anything though during the next couple joors, so Optimus probably hadn't told anyone. Then again, Sunstreaker was in the brig, so Prowl probably knew, too, what was going on. Bumblebee could barely look at the Praxian without the image of the black and silver waterfall cavern being called up by a secondary memory thread. Or a tertiary, or even a primary. ... Yeah.

“You have been very distracted lately, Bumblebee.”

“What?” Bumblebee startled, not having realized that once again he had been preoccupied by the secondary threads. The stark black-and-white frame of Prowl was blocking his way, almost close enough to touch, and Bumblebee had no idea how he had missed the Praxian's approach.

Prowl frowned. “You are less attentive, you are running hot very often, and you spend little time with Spike and Carly anymore. Have you been infected by a virus?”

Bumblebee sputtered. “I'm not infected!”

“Then what is the matter?”

“Nothing.” He looked away, his fields flaring uncomfortably.

Prowl vented. “Is this 'nothing' called Suni Flitzer and his paintings, by any chance?”

“No!”

The tactician studied him for a while. “You were sparked at the beginning of the war, weren't you? So you never saw Sunstreaker's Cybertronian works. He was famous for his portrays. It is not much of a surprise that his earthen paintings continue in that line. The only surprise is that he has started painting again in the first place.”

Cycling his optics, Bumblebee whistled lowly. “So you're not upset that he showed your stuff for anyone to see?”

It was Prowl's turn to blink. “Why would I be? He has painted me before.”

There was a hick-up in Bumblebee's processing. He couldn't have heard that right, could he? Prowl – What? And slag if he wasn't curious now about what Prowl ( _'s valve_ , a secondary thread added) would look like in a Cybertronian setting. 

He hastily terminated that thought and focused on the main issue, namely Prowl having no issue with displaying his interface equipment. “Then if Prime hadn't told you to, you wouldn't have put him in the brig?”

Bumblebee received a dismissive flick of the doorwings. “But of course I would have. He went against Prime's directive that humans aren't to know of our interfacing habits. And of course because he 'faced Soundwave.”

Soundwave? Had he missed a picture? Bumblebee was close to crashing. “But not because he faced Megatron?” he asked dazedly.

“There exist paintings of Megatron from before the war. Soundwave's however happened during, and that violates the Prime directive of no crossfactional interfacing.”

When Bumblebee considered that both Sunstreaker and Megatron had been gladiators, and that gladiators had been notorious for their interfacing habits, he wasn't too surprised that there had been... intimate encounters between the two of them. 

Soundwave though... The idea that Sunstreaker had interfaced with _Soundwave_ of all mechs. Monotone, tentacular, symbiont carrying, grammatically challenged, telepathically mind-raping Soundwave?

Bumblebee was close to hysteria when he discovered that the majority of his processor threads weren't occupied by that outrageous action, but by wondering which picture it was. 

Had he identified one of the paintings incorrectly? The only match he could find was 'Harmony without brood' – he had mapped it to Blaster, but maybe he should have been more discerning. Especially after seeing that both Megatron and Starscream's trine were represented.

It had been the spike that had been completely covered in cillae. Soundwave the tentacle monster. Or maybe not; the general effect was more along the looks of bared protoform. Seeded with myriads of microfilaments for armor bonding, sensors bared and ready to connect to protective plating, and probably so sensitive that EMs alone would be able to coax out an overload.

Guh. 

The forcible deactivation of his fans was nearly automatic by now.

“You did not know that Sunstreaker would paint you?” Prowl broke into Bumblebee's musings.

Glad for the interruption, Bee shook his head. “No. I didn't even know he painted like that.”

Prowl frowned. “All the more reason for him to be sent to the brig then. Sunstreaker might have assumed your implicit agreement by consenting to interface, but he should have asked you still.”

Bumbelbee did another double-take. “You mean... He does that to _everyone_?”

“As far as I know yes.”

He really didn't know what to say to this. On second thought – if there were _more_ mechs Sunstreaker had interfaced with but hadn't painted... Nearly the entire Ark, and a good portion of the Nemesis were already assembled in the human gallery. Still, he wouldn't put it beyond Sunstreaker. Gladiators and their reputation. 

“So, eh... what now?”

Prowl frowned. “That is what I should be asking you. You still haven't given me a reason for the virus-like symptoms you have been displaying.”

Prowl was still on about that? “You already guessed the reason.” Bumblebee shuffled uncomfortably. His fenders just refused to unclench under the penetrating stare of his superior. 

“I did not. I know it has something to do with Sunstreaker's paintings of interfacing equipment, but I do not know what it is that flusters you so about them.”

“Eh – what?” How could Prowl _not_ know? Bumblebee just didn't get the mech. “I mean, it's... it's _interface_ equipment. Mine. Yours. _Prime's_.”

“And?”

Bumblebee was stumped. “It's... private?”

“Yes. And?”

“It's _interface_ equipment.”

“You already mentioned that.”

“You don't see anything wrong with studying the interface equipment of other mechs? About having your own displayed like that?”

“No. Should I?”

Bumblebee had given up shuttering his optics in surprise. He swore to himself he wouldn't be surprised anymore by anything Prowl said. “So you wouldn't even mind if I asked you to show me yours?” he couldn't help but ask.

“Of course not. You have all the pertinent upgrades, so it is a perfectly valid question. Not in public though.”

“So you do mind displaying your equipment for everyone to see!”

Prowl cocked his head curiously. “I do not know why you are so fixated on this issue. The privacy of lockable quarters is only necessary because there are humans on board that are to be kept uninformed.”

For a moment, Bumblebee thought he'd glitch in the way only Prowl normally did. This side of Prowl, being completely unselfconscious about anything resembling interfacing, just didn't compute.

In some kind of temporary insanity – probably caused by the near-glitch – he looked at Prowl and flared his fields invitingly. “My quarters?”

“Very well.”

Bumblebee felt like he was caught in a virtual reality as he led the way, and Prowl trailed behind him as stoic and steady as the mech ever was. It was... eh... insane. Prowl. He. Valve. Guh.

For some reason, every mech they encountered gave Bumblebee a knowing smirk or smile or grin, depending on the temperament of the bot. Could they somehow read what was going on?

Sideswipe, who was about to leave the quarters he shared with Sunstreaker, took one look at them – Prowl following stately behind a still-dazed Bumblebee – and actually laughed out loud. He patted Bumblebee on his shoulder armor, smirked something like “About time,” and exchanged a brief com with Prowl. 

Bumblebee would have loved to know what they were talking about, but Prowl was very meticulous with his encryptions. Even if Bee had been rude enough to listen in, he wouldn't have had a chance at unravelling such a brief comuniqué. 

Then Sideswipe was off again, probably late for his duty judging by the reprimanding flare of Prowl's fields. Bumblebee decided not to say anything, not even when he keyed open the door to his quarters. It still felt too surreal to have _Prowl_ of all mechs following him for _that_.

Cliffjumper was out on patrol, so the small room with two berths was empty. When the door closed behind Prowl, it felt acutely claustrophobic with the way the Praxian's presence filled the space.

Eh... what now? Prowl wasn't a haughty Sunstreaker demanding that Bumblebee loosen his plates or he wouldn't be held responsible for the measures he'd take. 

(Bumblebee had been too giddy having been asked to interface by Sunstreaker of all mechs, that he hadn't admitted that it was his first time. He hadn't known enough about interfacing to comply, and the 'measures' had definitely been interesting. Whenever he replayed the file of how those yellow claws had _scratched_ pleasure into his armor seams, of how the tips had pierced ecstasy into neural lines and sensory clusters, of how he had been so charged that every single touch had been preceded by arcs of static electricity...)

Bumblebee made sure his fans remained off and terminated yet another batch of secondary thought threads.

Anyway. 

Bumblebee could imagine repeating Sunstreaker's words to Prowl even less. And the time with Sideswipe had just... happened. There had been no awkward standing around in a much-too-small room; instead there had been pranks and laughter and teasing gropes that had eventually evolved to a full interface.

His courage was about to run out when Prowl cocked his head. 

“Would you like to just see my interface equipment, or would you like to interface, too?”

Well, if this was what the tactician felt like when faced by illogics, Bee could understand that he was glitching so often. Prowl had delivered his invitation with not a iota change in his fields, seeming about as interested in interfacing as in reading datapads. Bee just didn't know what to make of it. Sure, he was never adverse to interfacing, but Prowl didn't sound enthusiastic at all. “Yes?” he more asked than stated.

Prowl looked at him and sighed, one of the most relaxed sounds Bumblebee had heard the Praxian make. “I will assume you agree to the interfacing part.”

Bumblebee just nodded, still a bit freaked out. “But if you don't want to, we don't have to. You don't have to show me either, and...”

It was like a hot oil bath as Prowl's normally tight fields unfurled and suddenly prickled against Bee's doorwings. The subtle variations at the edges flowed across Bee's panels, hitting eigenfrequencies with a startling accuracy. It was like a full-frame caress that penetrated down to the wires, and Bumblebee couldn't keep the gasp of pleasure out of his fields.

So different from Sunstreaker's tactile assault, and yet...

Prowl remained completely still, only his doorwings extended at full spread to capture all nuances. And the prickling caress blew across Bumblebee's plates and excited the electrons within, and just how in the universe did Prowl know the resonant frequencies of Bumblebee's frame?

With a shiver of pleasure he stepped deeper into Prowl's fields, turning off his optics and just enjoying the tingling charge. He flared his own doorwings wider to enjoy the fields fully, loosening his armor plates so that he could feel the full effect of the vibrations.

“How... how are you doing this?” he asked blearily, too overwhelmed to even consider reciprocating. 

The chuckle – had he ever heard Prowl chuckle? - had the same resonant quality. “Practice.”

It was fortunate that Bumblebee felt too good to glitch. Otherwise, he surely would have. Stoic, by-the-rules, stick-in-the-mud Prowl. Practicing interfacing. But apparently, even the calm tactician had a wild side. 

“Can you show me?” Bumblebee asked dazedly.

“Try modulating your EM field until you sense a resonance from me. Find as many resonances as you can.”

It sounded quite simple in theory. In practice – not so. Especially not when Prowl's fields were so distracting. And how did Prowl manage such a seamless slide through the spectrum? Bumblebee's efforts seemed thoroughly clumsy compared to that. Not that he could concentrate all that well with how tingling currents pulsed through him, induced simply by the flare of Prowl's fields. 

It was after the tenth failed attempt that Bumblebee decided to stick with what he knew: tactile.

Stepping close enough that he was only a micron away, Bumblebee reached up to Prowl's ventral seams and traced them. At first he was quite tentative, but the loosening of Prowl's plates encouraged him to reach deeper. The tip of his digits caught on wires, tugging them slightly to Prowl's startled pleasure. 

Prowl, in turn, reciprocate by trailing a claw right across the top of Bumblebee's doorwings. And then he squeezed the tips. Hard.

Bumblebee nearly overloaded on the spot. He had been in a near-permanent state of charge for days, and the stimulation was too much. The sound of Prowl's interface panel snicking open called up those secondary threads revolving around Prowl's valve, what it looked like gushing with lubricants. Together with another squeeze to his doorwings the memories finally pushed him over the edge.

With a wordless burst of static, he collapsed against Prowl's plates, some of his charge grounding out against the Praxian, some of it arcing across his gaping armor seams in a crackling display of ecstasy.

Amusement slipping into his fields, Prowl held him upright until Bumblebee's stabilizers kicked in again. Thankfully Prowl didn't say anything about Bumblebee's embarrassingly quick overload, only guided them to Bee's berth. 

“Do you still want to see my valve?”

Bumblebee could only nod and watch numbly as Prowl reclined on the berth and spread his legs to the point that his opened interface panel was fully exposed.

Bumblebee couldn't help but stare.

A black spike, dark and glossy and very plain on first glance, was halfway to pressurization. On a non-photonic spectrum though, it became visible that the entire tip of the spike was a single electromagnet, and that there were several more planted along its length. Bumblebee's fans nearly stalled when he imagined what that would feel like when pressed against the retral node of his valve. Especially when he took into account how skilled Prowl seemed to be in using electromagnetics.

Right beneath the spike there was a small sensor plate, and then the oval depths of an equally black valve gaped open.

 _Sunstreaker had caught it perfectly,_ he thought dazedly, staring at the three parallel grooves running into the valve from the top. They seemed to be expandable, stretching out flat for spikes with a large circumference, but at the moment they were closed in deep folds.

Like an Empty drawn by a cube of energon, Bumblebee's digits were attracted to the flexible metal. A nod from Prowl gave him the go-ahead, and it was no sooner than that, that the lubricated metal pressed against his fingers.

He rubbed along the inward-going ridges, felt how they let themselves be parted like fins. He rubbed a bit harder, and the pressure parted the ridges to allow his digit to slip into the groove between. Back and forth he rubbed along the valley floor, digit nearly completely enfolded by the sides. Occasionally he switched to a parallel neighbor, but he was too fascinated to stop his ministrations entirely

Prowl certainly seemed to enjoy it, judging from the way his doorwings trembled against the berth and his back arched. Bumblebee would have never imagined the stoic mech's frame to be so expressive in pleasure.

There was another grove at the bottom of the valve, inviting Bumblebee to explore it as thoroughly as he had the three top ones. It was the groove where, in Sunstreaker's painting, water had spilled from the cave. Lubricant was already collecting there, but the cant of Prowl's hips prevented it from flowing outward.

Bumblebee's servo trembled as he spread his digits and watched how the groves opened and closed with the dilation. He could – it would take a spike of Skyfire's size to fully stretch Prowl's valve, and yet it was still clenching so tightly even around Bumblebee's small digits. He could feel the hardened nubs of electromagnets implanted into the non-grooved sides, sticking to his plating through the thin film of lubricant.

He could – He should – There was Prowl's spike, too, with all the magnets humming and fully pressurized – 

His own doorwings trembling, Bumblebee looked up and met Prowl's lustfully dimmed optics. “May I?”

“Go ahead.” Prowl's voice was laced with static, and Bumblebee hadn't thought it possible but the Praxian's legs spread a fraction wider. Bumblebee was fairly kneeling between them to get better access. Both their fans were obscenely loud by now, and Prowl's entire plating was giving off a thoroughly charged feeling. 

If Bumblebee hadn't already had an overload earlier, he could have come from that alone. As it was, he gave Prowl's spike several strokes to feel how his servo slid along the magnetic fields to the very top. The flat surface of the magnet there was poled to repel Bumblebee's digits, whereas the others along its length attracted his plates. Inside a valve, that would – that would –

Bumblebee's fans stuttered as he imagined how the magnetic field would put pressure on the retral sensory cluster long before the spike even penetrated that far. But if there was one thing about magnets that had always fascinated him... 

He pulled his other servo from Prowls valve to hold the spike still, and slowly forced a digit against the repelling magnetic field to touch the transfluid line in the center.

It was good that there was sound-proof shielding on all quarters of the Ark. He wouldn't have thought the Praxian capable of such a high keen.

Without thinking about it, he bent the spike until he could guide its tip into Prowl's valve. The supple grooves were forced open and the outermost valve magnets caught against the spike magnets, and Bumblebee's digit was right alongside the spike as Prowl's valve seized in an endless feedback-loop.

Prowl's vocalizer fizzled into static as his entire frame arched into Bumblebee's touch.

Involved in the erotic imagery his processor clusters were drowning in, Bumblebee only belatedly realized that it might be painful for a highly pressurized spike to be bent like that. Thankfully though there was no question whether Prowl liked it or not. His fields were drowned in chaotic ecstasy, and if there was pain Bumblebee didn't think he could feel it.

Servo trembling, Bumblebee started rubbing the digit caught alongside Prowl's spike, into the pliant metal. Again and again did he rub the digit, back and forth, and the charge between spike and valve grew so much that he could feel it to the core of his servo.

On the fifth repeat, Prowl finally tumbled into overloaded. His entire frame convulsed, doorwings digging so hard into the berth that Bumblebee heard them creak. His valve clenched spasmodically, and the spike pumped out charge after charge of transfluid to the point that it refluxed from the bottom groove of his valve.

The image of the cave and the waterfall slammed into Bumblebee with all the subtlety of a constructicon, dragging him right over the brink of overload together with Prowl. He only retained enough presence of processor to slowly ease off on his grip, allowing Prowl's spike to slip out of his valve.

Slowly they cooled off next to each other, Bumblebee sprawled between Prowl's legs, Prowl sprawled on Bumblebee's berth.

“That was an interesting technique,” Prowl finally commented after resetting his vocalizer twice.

“Uh, yeah,” Bumblebee stuttered, too satiated to really feel embarrassed. “Sorry if I hurt you.”

The Praxian snorted, gradually drawing in his fields to their regular tight conformation. “You didn't. However, I would advise against trying that with other mechs without giving them a warning beforehand. Not everybot finds it pleasurable.”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. I enjoyed it.” 

Prowl sat up, un-subspaced a cleaning cloth, and started to wipe off his interface equipment without care that Bumblebee was still sprawled between his legs and thus had full view. Bumblebee hastily looked away, making the Praxian sigh. 

“Bumblebee. I realize your interfacing protocols have been initialized only after we landed on earth, but you seem to be laboring under some misconceptions. For one, giving and receiving pleasure is normal amongst us Autobots. For another, please delete those human hang-ups about anything concerning interfacing being taboo. The only reason you haven't been exposed to normal interfacing habits is that your protocols activated after Prime's edict of hiding our sexuality from humans.”

Bumblebee's optics spiraled open wide. “So all that sneaking and hiding and secret making-out...”

“Is only because there are humans on the Ark. The next time you are interested in a mech – or their spike or valve – you should ask straight-out instead of letting yourself get distracted to the point of displaying virus-like symptoms. With the enthusiasm you showed, I am certain they will not be adverse even to a second try.”

“Uh, yeah.” Processors still spinning, Bumblebee scooted to the side so that Prowl could finally get up. Had Prowl just said that he... wouldn't mind a repeat performance?

The Praxian had cleaned away all evidence from his interfacing equipment, and subspaced the cloth while his panel closed languidly. It was fascinating to watch how his doorwings returned to their customary static position of being lifted slightly, and how the stiff formality was in reality only a very straight posture. 

Without haste Prowl strolled towards the door, pausing slightly before he pinged it open. “Your next shift starts in three joor. I hope your performance will be better now than it had been the past orns.”

“Uh... yeah.”

Then Prowl was gone, and Bumblebee flopped back onto his berth. His dermal sensors informed him that there was a puddle of Prowl's fluids on the berth metal, and that he had just laid himself into them. That was good, because he still couldn't quite believe what had just happened. He – Prowl – Guh.

Perhaps he should try asking Mirage next, since there was no chance he'd be allowed a go at Soundwave?


End file.
